


Breathe

by jinkazama



Category: Tekken
Genre: Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Rival Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 22:09:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2404649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinkazama/pseuds/jinkazama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jin Kazama is plagued by nightmares, and seeks Hwoarang out at the end of the fourth tournament.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seoul

**Author's Note:**

> I guess I'm finally posting this, huh? So, I started writing this ages ago, back in January. Lost the thread of it for a while but over the past month I started writing again and got inspired for this again.
> 
> Massive thanks to Merci, who betad the first 500 or so words I was stuck on and helped me get past the ugly early stages with some well-placed feedback.
> 
> I love HwoaJin a lot, and I'm only sorry that this is just the second story I've done for them. I see them as equal in strength. I took a lot of this from Jin's T5 prologue and Hwoarang in Baek's TT2 ending and so it's canon _ish_ , I guess? 
> 
> This is not a story that has a happy ending, but that's more to do with the placing of it in the timeline. It's set just when Jin is falling apart in canon, and so they don't live happily ever after - in this story at least.

The silence was starting to get to Hwoarang.

Here in this endless forest, he was acutely aware of the sound of his own breath, of the snap and crunch of twigs beneath his boots, of the chirps of birds overhead.

Accustomed to Seoul, where he could cruise through the night on his motorbike for hours, drinking in the neon lights and constant pulse of the city, Yakushima seemed so dead in comparison.

He certainly wasn’t going to mention that to Jin Kazama, though, who moved silently ahead of him, as much a natural part of the forest as the sika deer that kept flashing past. As though he’d been born right there in the forest. Maybe he had been? He always had that hippie vibe to him, Hwoarang thought.

When his rival had shown up outside his apartment in Seoul, waiting for him silently in the dark in that stupid hoodie, he’d felt the familiar rush of adrenaline. Hwoarang slid off his bike and inclined his head to the waiting man across the street.

“You want to go now, huh?”

Jin cringed, shook his head, held up his finger to his lips. Hwoarang stared in disbelief. Was Jin Kazama actually shushing him? In case he hadn’t noticed, this wasn’t exactly a quiet neighbourhood. Residents were used to sleeping through police sirens, drunk brawling and yes, Hwoarang’s various comings and goings.

He crossed the street and got in Jin’s face.

“What do you want? Why are you here if not to fight?”

Jin’s face was shadowed beneath his hood, but Hwoarang could still see the stubborn set of his mouth. Hwoarang glared at him, waiting for a response. A passing car’s lights lit up the pavement and Hwoarang’s eyes were distracted by the sight of a bag at the other man’s feet.

He looked up again, incredulous, and Jin had pulled his hood down.

“Please,” he said “I need somewhere to stay.”

“And you came to me? Why? Did you think I could help you?”

“Yes.”

Hwoarang rolled his eyes, and exhaled loudly. “You in some kind of trouble?”

“Not exactly. Family business.”

Hwoarang’s curiosity had taken over. “Fine, whatever. You can sleep on my couch. On two conditions.”

Jin waited.

“One: we have that rematch. Two: I don’t want to get involved in whatever trouble you’re in. You understand?”

“Fine.”

Hwoarang turned and crossed back over the street and after a moment’s pause Jin followed. His place was small, but he had a separate bedroom and so they’d at least have some privacy.

Once inside, he’d got Jin some clean sheets and blankets and left him to it. He hadn’t bothered with niceties. They could wait til the morning to talk more. Jin had seemed happy to be left alone, so it wasn’t as though he was being rude. Not that he cared if Jin thought him rude.

He was woken hours later by screams. Scrabbling for a towel, he rushed out, primed to fight.

Jin Kazama was having a nightmare. His eyes were shut but his pale face was twisted in horror.

Hwoarang froze at his expression, but after a few seconds, he went and gently shook Jin awake.

Jin gasped into the darkness, black hair plastered to his pale forehead. He looked about wildly, and started when he saw Hwoarang kneeling beside him.

Hwoarang switched on a lamp, and Jin’s wild eyes were apparent. His sheets were bunched about his hands where he’d been scrabbling at them in his sleep; the blankets had been kicked off at some point and were bunched up on the floor.

Jin was beginning to come back to himself. Hwoarang moved away to give him space. It didn’t seem right to crowd him, to force Jin to compose himself in front of him. He’d always been a quiet, self-contained sort of person and so Hwoarang felt uncomfortable hovering over him, getting in his face.

He stood a little way off and decided to get a glass of water for Jin. It felt wrong to not do anything. His every instinct raged against it, but it felt right to give Jin a moment to compose himself in some privacy, so Hwoarang slipped away to get the water without saying anything.

When he returned, Jin was in the same position, but he already looked much calmer. His skin was no longer the dead white it had been when Hwoarang woke him, and his eyes were steadier.

Hwoarang went to him, offering the glass. Jin took it, silently nodding his thanks, and drank.

He sat for a while after that, staring blankly into space. Hwoarang couldn’t stand it. He’d had his pride and his hurt feelings where Jin Kazama was concerned, but that all came second to the need to get Jin out of this – whatever it was.

“Let’s go out on the bike. It’s peaceful at this hour. The air will be good for you, calm you, maybe.”

Hwoarang had spent many sleepless nights drifting along Seoul’s motorways in the middle of the night; it was the best way to escape his own personal demons that he knew of.

Jin looked at him in surprise, but then he nodded. Hwoarang went to dress and left Jin to do the same.

Outside, Hwoarang was already on the bike when Jin came out. He was usually impatient and hated waiting around for people, but he didn’t mind giving Jin the extra time tonight. Jin slid on behind him, and hesitated a moment before sliding his arms tightly around Hwoarang’s waist.

Oh fuck.

He kicked his bike off the stand and they took off into the night. Seoul was never silent, even at four in the morning, but it was as quiet as it got. The neon lights washed over them, colouring his hands in various pale shades as they passed through the streets and wove through traffic. Jin’s arms were tight around him, and Hwoarang was painfully aware of the effect that Jin’s body pressed against him was having.

Same as it ever was.

As they drifted through somnolent motorways, populated by fewer cars than usual, he felt Jin’s hand move slowly downwards. The hand skimmed across his stomach muscles, before it reached the top of his thigh. It stroked inwards, gently, before coming down to settle on his upper thigh.

Jin squeezed, hard. At first Hwoarang didn’t quite register; he was concentrating on making it through a green light before it switched to red. Jin’s hand rested on his thigh, not moving. Hwoarang felt as though the heat was burning through his chaps onto his skin, and Jin trailing his fingers up the inside of his thigh definitely didn’t help.

It was fortunate they were near an exit, and even luckier it was so late and there was little traffic. Hwoarang pulled over and made his way back out towards his apartment.

It didn’t take them long. Soon, he was sliding off the bike and angrily charging at Jin. He shoved Jin back hard; Jin staggered but recovered himself and stared back at him, expressionless despite Hwoarang’s aggression.

“What the fuck were you doing? Were you trying to make us crash?”

Jin started, dark eyes wide in shock, before his expression smoothed over.

“I’m sorry. I thought -”

Hwoarang yanked his goggles off his head angrily. He couldn’t believe Jin Kazama was fucking with him like this. Especially after the last time. Stupid. He was stupid to let him in.

“Listen. You feel my leg up and we don’t die, you don’t fuck around. I’m not interested in your little mind games. I helped you out tonight, remember?”

Jin looked away. “Yes.”

Hwoarang studied his profile. He felt a little disappointed, but they were home safe and there was no harm done. Apart from his pride. He could always finish what Jin had started in the privacy of his own room. He’d done enough of that in the two years since they last spoke.

He was digging through the pocket of his jeans for the key when he realised Jin was standing in front of him.

“Hey,” Jin said softly, and then he kissed him.

Hwoarang was caught completely off guard and he nearly dropped the key in the gutter. _Some nerve under pressure you have there, sergeant_. Jin’s strong fingers laced through his hair, pulling him close. His hips pushed greedily against Hwoarang’s.

Hwoarang broke away, he had to say something.

“What are you doing? Are you sure?”

“I just want to forget.”

Hwoarang knew the feeling well. And he’d missed Jin enough to not bother asking too many questions. His body was responding to Jin’s advances, and who was he to argue with basic biology?

They fell in the door and moved quickly to Hwoarang’s tiny, shabby little room. Not that he cared; nuclear war could have started outside and he wouldn’t be able to think beyond the way Jin was pulling impatiently at his clothes.

Hwoarang slapped Jin’s hands away. He dragged his t-shirt off him, then his jeans. Jin watched, dark eyes gleaming. He caught Hwoarang’s wrists before he could move towards Jin, and held them.

“No need to be gentle with me. I can take whatever you dish out.”

Hwoarang knew that from experience. He wasn’t intending to be gentle with Jin; he certainly never had been in the past.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Hwoarang laughed, as he unzipped Jin’s hoodie and tossed it away.

He’d seen Jin’s chest regularly in the last tournament of course, was familiar with the way the muscles and skin stretched over that broad frame, but he’d forgotten how the sight of Jin fully naked staring boldly at him made him feel. He was more thickly muscled after his years training in secret. Jin looked directly at him, almost taunting him with those eyes.

“Shit,” Hwoarang muttered as he moved towards Jin, and then they were crashing onto his bed, bodies pressed insistently against each other. Jin kissed hard, and he used the strength Hwoarang was so familiar with to hold Hwoarang down. But Hwoarang wasn’t going to let Jin pin him like that in his own damn bed, and he deftly flipped Jin, so that he was straddling his broad torso and had trapped Jin between his arms. Jin didn’t resist. He looked up with those black eyes, and Hwoarang shivered.

“So.”

“On your side.”

Hwoarang moved behind Jin, and slid his left hand towards Jin’s willing mouth. Jin obediently sucked his fingers inside.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Hwoarang exclaimed, feeling himself grow even harder, “If I hadn’t been wanting to fuck your uptight ass into the mattress since you showed up, I’d want you on my cock with that mouth.”

Jin pulled away. “Since I showed up?”

Hwoarang came back down to earth. _Fuck_.

“Yeah.”

Jin turned himself to gaze directly at Hwoarang once more, and Hwoarang felt the look go through him, like Jin was looking at everything inside him, the complicated mix of feelings he’d had since their first fight, since their last meeting. He felt exposed.

Jin took his hand and pressed Hwoarang’s fingers right inside him after he’d turned back around. That focused Hwoarang’s attention. He pressed hot kisses to the back of Jin’s neck as his fingers worked inside him, teasing, drawing groans of pleasure that tried his already limited patience. Jin pushed back, working with him, and Hwoarang felt himself get lost in the strokes and touches of all that tight heat. He remembered exactly how to make Jin’s breath catch in his throat, and he revelled in the sounds Jin made as he flicked over his prostate, or moved his fingers a particular way.

Then Jin was withdrawing his hand, and Hwoarang moved against him as he slid in. He was pressed right against Jin’s back, right arm gripping Jin tightly to him. Slowly, he urged himself, make him ask for it.

But he realised he didn’t want to hear Jin begging after all. The feeling of Jin’s body against his, all that smooth skin over thick muscle, the way Jin had looked at him with those eyes, it wasn’t just any old fuck to use and discard and move on from. He never had been. Even after everything that had happened. Even after the past two years.

It was Jin.

All their rivalry was based on a mutual respect that ran deep. For Hwoarang, the fascination of the man who’d held him to the first draw of his life had always run deeper than mere competition. He’d accepted that, though initially he’d never expected anything more to come of it. Jin barely seemed human, he was so immersed in his own inner world all the time. They’d had their fun at the third tournament and then abruptly, Jin had left and never spoken to him again. Until tonight.

For all he’d fantasised about Jin underneath him since, in a variety of situations, begging him some times, ordering him at others, none of those situations compared to the real thing. Jin moved against him, anticipating his movements, and when Hwoarang rolled his hips sharply, Jin only moaned deep in his throat in response. He’d been wanting this, he wouldn’t be long, and by the sounds he was making, neither would Jin.

As Hwoarang came, bucking hard against Jin, Jin pushed back hard, taking him deep, and Hwoarang moaned into the back of Jin’s neck as he came. Jin was still hard, and Hwoarang turned him around before he slid underneath the sheets. He might be a brash street thug, but he still had manners.

He breathed in the musk of Jin’s body as he set to work, pressing his tongue firmly underneath the shaft, enjoying the way Jin’s breath caught in his throat.

Jin’s dark eyes glazed over as his long fingers entwined in the damp red hair.

Some time later, Hwoarang was standing in front of his window, smoking. Jin lay half-buried beneath damp sheets watching him.

“Why did you come here?”

“I told you,” Jin said, half-muffled. “I needed to escape.”

“From what?”

“The nightmares you’ve been having. It’s about that, isn’t it?”

“Look,” Jin said with a distinctly stubborn tone to his voice, “it’s not that I don’t trust you. I came to you. But you _can’t_ understand. It’s my burden, not yours.”

“ _Burden_?” Hwoarang exclaimed. “Is this about your crazy family? Because let me tell you something, you’re not the only one from a fucked-up upbringing. The stories I could tell you about the orphanage…so don’t tell me I can’t understand, alright?”

“Hwoarang,” Jin said icily, “you _couldn’t_ understand this situation. It goes far beyond that. If it was anything else, I’d tell you, but I can’t tell you about this.”

Jin had never been a pushover, and although Hwoarang had been scornful of his iron will before, he recognised the exhaustion in Jin’s tone. “Alright.”

He extinguished his cigarette on the chipped windowledge – another scar on to add to the collection - and when he turned around, Jin had sat up in bed and thrown the sheet off. Hwoarang’s eyes travelled down his body, lingering openly.

“I believe you said something about fucking me into your mattress,” Jin said in a low voice, “I don’t believe you can do it.”

“Try me,” Hwoarang grinned, and leapt on Jin with a shout.

He woke some time later. His bleary eyes told him it was only forty minutes after he’d drifted off to sleep. Jin was beside him, staring at the ceiling with wild eyes. All annoyance ebbed away from Hwoarang at that look. He moved across the bed and drew Jin close. Jin didn’t resist; his eyes were wide and staring.

“Another one?”

Jin nodded.

“I don’t know what to do. I can’t go on like this. I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams.”

Hwoarang felt helpless. What did you even say to something like that? What could you do when faced with the kind of troubles that woke you up screaming night after night?

“I can’t stay here.”

Hwoarang sat up. “Yeah you can. Where else are you going to go?”

“Yakushima. It’s where I’m from. I always felt at peace there.”

“Oh.”

“Come with me. I – I don’t want to be alone. I haven’t gone back since my mother died.”

“I’ll go,” Hwoarang said without needing to think about it. He couldn’t have pointed to Yakushima on a map; but he couldn’t refuse Jin this. Not tonight, after the things he’d seen.

“I’ll go with you,” Hwoarang said again, “but try to get some rest here for a couple of days first. You’ll need your strength for travelling.”

Jin slouched back against the bare headboard, and looked straight at the ceiling for a few minutes before muttering “Fine” and rolling back over.

Hwoarang lay back down and for the first time in a long time, sleep was easy.


	2. Yakushima

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jin and Hwoarang go to Yakushima.

“That your uncle?”

Jin’s disinterested eyes flicked over to Hwoarang. He’d been staring listlessly into the sea since they’d boarded the ferry; his hoodie was pulled up over his face, and Hwoarang had given up trying to make conversation an hour ago.

“What?”

“The radio.”

Jin turned in the direction of the crackly signal; the announcer was talking about the fourth tournament, someone called Violet who was Lee Chaolan and how he’d been beaten by his adoptive brother Kazuya Mishima again. The announcer was talking excitedly and Hwoarang gathered that it was something of a scandal on the mainland. On this boat, though, they seemed cut off from everything, even each other.

“I don’t care.”

Jin turned away again.

Hwoarang gritted his teeth. He’d really had enough of this moody bullshit, and if he had been able to swim, he’d be halfway back to civilisation by now. The lack of sleep wasn’t helping. At least he’d been able to fuck Jin out of his gloom in Seoul, or at least get him out of the dark mood that seemed his usual mode these days. He turned and shoved his hands in his pockets, and wished he’d brought more cigarettes with him.

He was able to discern a watery shape in the dim light after a while; Yakushima. Even the sight of more trees than he’d ever seen in his life didn’t sway Hwoarang from the relief he felt at seeing land again. Why had he agreed to go on this stupid boat anyway?

Because Jin asked. It was important to him. It was his sanctuary, and he hoped to find peace there. But he wasn’t comfortable going back there by himself, it was the first time since…

Hwoarang understood. He agreed easily, while he looked at the relief on Jin’s face and wondered exactly what he was getting himself into.

The ferry docked, and Jin and Hwoarang stepped off onto a quiet beach. There was a small shack that was boarded up for the season, some fishing boats tied up to the quays, and not much else. Hwoarang looked at Jin, and he was surprised to see the hint of a smile on Jin’s lips.

“Come on.”

He led Hwoarang up the beach and towards a scant trail that went through a dense patch of forest. Hwoarang found himself unnerved; every crack of a twig under his boots sent his eyes darting around. Jin moved silently, and Hwoarang watched the way Jin seemed to grow more comfortable as he walked. _Of course_ , he realised, _this is his territory_.

They walked for about half an hour until the path widened and they came to a small house, windows dark and cobwebbed. Jin didn’t speak, but he paused for a moment before squaring his shoulders and marching towards the house. Hwoarang followed, feeling uneasy.

Jin pulled a small key from his jacket, and after a moment’s convincing, the door opened. Everything was covered in white sheets and thick layers of dust; Hwoarang was glad he was behind Jin. He didn’t think he wanted to see the look on Jin’s face.

Jin turned suddenly, blinking back something that might have been dust out of his eyes.

“Come on.”

“We’re staying here?” Hwoarang blurted out. He thought Jin had come for a visit, he hadn’t given much thought to the actual logistics.

“Yes. Come on. It’s a little dusty –“

“A little?! Kazama, I didn’t come all the way to the middle of nowhere to do your housework!”

“ – but it won’t take long. It’s not a big place,” Jin finished, ignoring Hwoarang’s outburst.

Hwoarang looked around. At that moment, he’d have given anything for anyone, even one of Jin’s awful family members, to descend in a helicopter and whisk him back somewhere where he could get a decent bowl of kimchiguk. What were they even going to eat here? He hoped Jin wasn’t going to send him out foraging. Judging by the racket he’d made going through the woods, he doubted he could catch anything that couldn’t catch him first.

He pulled the neck of his t-shirt up around his face and pulled his goggles down over his eyes. When he’d finished adjusting them, Jin was standing before him, brandishing a vacuum cleaner.

“You do the floors. I’m on windows and furniture.”

Something about the familiar way Jin held the little machine out to him got to Hwoarang. _Maybe it’s because the last time he did this, it was his mother here instead of you_.

“Fine,” he choked.

Jin was right; it didn’t take them much time to clean the little house. Still, Hwoarang was breathing heavily from the exertion of getting into every tiny nook and cranny – he swore the house was composed of nothing but them – as he watched Jin’s efforts on the furniture and windows. He’d be damned if he let himself be defeated by Jin, even at this!

Hwoarang collapsed onto a low sofa that had been revealed by Jin’s work and stretched dramatically with a colossal yawn.

“Hope you’re doing dinner for all that, I’m starved!”

Jin watched him, dark eyes thoughtful. “I’m going out, I’ll get food while I’m gone. You rest here.”

“Rest?!” Hwoarang scoffed, annoyed that Jin thought him that soft, but Jin was barely halfway up the path before Hwoarang was snoring ungraciously under an old blanket.

He woke some time later, squinting in the low light. Jin was barely visible by candlelight, hunched over the small stove, and he was cooking…something. Hwoarang couldn’t tell what it was by smell or the empty ingredients on the table, and that bothered him.

He sat up, grimacing at the stiffness in his neck. Served him right for falling asleep like that. Baek had always disdained his napping habits, and the army had been strict on regimented sleeping times, of course, but sleep could be hard for him and when he got the chance, he took it.

Jin was concentrating so much on stirring the pot before him that he didn’t see Hwoarang until he was leaning over his shoulder.

“Noodles, pork, won bok, some sort of mushroom, onions, really pushing the boat out here Kazama. Secret family recipe?”

Jin turned his eyes to him and Hwoarang was startled by the hurt there. “Don’t.”

Hwoarang opened his mouth to say something, then decided against it, and dropped his hand against Jin’s shoulder. Jin turned back to his cooking. Hwoarang draped himself alongside the low table in the adjacent room and watched Jin instead.

Soon enough he heard the dull scraping of wood against metal and Jin clattering two bowls he’d unearthed from somewhere. A steaming bowl was placed before him. Hwoarang’s nose twitched at the scent – it seemed a little off?

Jin was eating his own meal quietly, so Hwoarang pushed his doubts aside and picked out a chunk of pork.

His throat clenched in protest as he struggled to keep his face expressionless. How the hell had Kazama managed to combine such inoffensive ingredients, ones he’d used himself a million times, to create such a monstrosity? How was he sitting there, calmly eating his own meal as though nothing was wrong? How was he going to get through this meal?

Hwoarang dug deep. He remembered being a kid on the streets of Seoul. _There were a lot of nights you’d have killed to eat this shit_ , he told himself firmly. He thought about how there was no other food in the house, how he’d have to go hungry if he didn’t somehow force this down. He wondered if tatami mats were edible. He thought about how he’d have to sneak out into the woods when Jin was asleep, see if he could catch and eat anything. _I don’t even know how to catch a pigeon_ , he thought miserably. Finally, he visualised Baek’s stern face in front of the motto in their dojang. Indomitable Spirit. Hwoarang wondered if Baek had ever faced a challenge as tough as this one, then pushed the thought away. Of course he hadn’t.

Jin had stopped eating and was staring at him.

“Something wrong?”

Yes, Hwoarang wanted to say, your food tastes like shit. Instead he smiled and said “Sorry. Just tired.”

Jin looked at him for a long moment, but didn’t push it. He was clearly close to his own personal edge and not looking for a fight. Hwoarang relaxed.

“You should finish your meal though. You haven’t eaten since we got on the ferry.”

Bastard!

The food was cooling, and somehow Hwoarang got the impression that the flavour wouldn’t be improved by this, so he attacked his bowl, the aim being to get as much food into himself as quickly as possible before his tongue could register and before it congealed into even _less_ edible slop. Jin had pushed his own empty bowl away and sat back on his elbows, watching him curiously.

“Are you even using your teeth?”

Hwoarang ignored the jibe. He played a game as he ate. _That’s five mouthfuls, come on, you can make it to seven at least, oh seven’s easy, try for nine_ …

He was surprised to see his chopsticks scrape the bottom of the bowl after what seemed like an eternity. Finally. He pushed the bowl away, and stretched out with a satisfied groan.

“Good?” Jin asked. Hwoarang looked up. Was Jin laughing at him?

Hwoarang rolled on his side. Jin watched him. “I’ve had better.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jin said, with a small smile. Hwoarang was so busy watching his face that he didn’t see Jin catch his outstretched foot.

“Hey!”

“It’s ok,” Jin muttered, as his strong fingers worked Hwoarang’s muscles. The pads of his thumbs were rough, and they rasped over Hwoarang’s instep, and arch of his foot with practiced manoeuvres that had all the tension ebbing out of him. Hwoarang threw his head back.

“Shit, that’s good. Do the other one?”

Jin took his right foot in hand and worked carefully as his dark eyes roved over Hwoarang. 

“After this,” Jin said, stroking away, “I want to take you into the forest.”

Hwoarang had no interest in the forest, but the way Jin was touching him was enough to wash away any disinterest.

“Fine.”

 

 ***

“See this tree?”

Hwoarang looked. It looked like any other tree. Maybe it was a little more gnarled and ugly, but so what?

Jin touched the ragged bark reverently. “This tree is over two thousand years old. They grow strong here because of all the rain. The wood doesn’t rot.”

Hwoarang stepped closer. Jin watched him.

He’d never really thought about trees. He’d seen them, of course, in the parks and green spaces of Seoul, but there they were small and tame, hidden behind fences and steel bars to prevent thugs like him from damaging them.

He’d never seen anything like _this_. It almost seemed to breathe as the wind rustled its leaves.

But he wasn’t going to say any of that to Jin Kazama.

Luckily, the weather intervened before Jin started kissing the tree or whatever he was going to do next. Rain came in coin-sized drops, lashing down.

Jin looked at him. “Follow me!”

Hwoarang ran after Jin, trying to peer through his sopping hair at the unfamiliar landscape. He tried putting all thoughts of catching his foot in a stray tree root and snapping his neck as he fell out of his mind. The rain soaked through his clothes, chilling him right to the bone. Jin kept running and Hwoarang’s lungs burned as he kept pace, until Jin turned into a clearing and he finally stopped.

“It’s still raining,” Hwoarang panted as he struggled to catch his breath. He groaned as he felt his hair plastered to his head. He hadn’t brought any dye with him.

“Down here,” Jin said, and clambered down a small bank. When Hwoarang followed, he found Jin standing by the entrance to a small cave.

“A _cave_? Are you fucking with me?”

“Suit yourself,” Jin said, and crouched slightly as he stepped into the cave.

Hwoarang paused, but if the choice was sitting in some smelly cave with Jin or getting his hair and clothes even more wet…

“Wait!”

Inside the cave was surprisingly pleasant. The air was dry and cool, and the stones inside were smooth and solid. Jin sat cross-legged against one of the walls and smiled as Hwoarang attempted to squeeze the water out of his hair.

“It’s no good. My hair’s ruined. It’ll look like shit til I get back to Seoul.”

“It’s fine. Just a bit wet. Your clothes, though…”

Hwoarang looked down. Jin was right, he’d have to get rid of this outfit. Not only was it soaked to the skin, but there were numerous tears and snarls where he’d caught on branches and twigs during his mad dash through the forest.

They sat and listened to the comforting sound of rain outside. If it hadn’t been for the rain, Hwoarang would have been hard-pressed to find a more silent place in the world. He could easily imagine Jin spending time by himself there, staring into space and thinking about his many problems. He’d have gone stir-crazy after a few minutes in there; he’d never been good and staying still or shutting up, as Baek frequently reminded him. Jin, though, could have been mistaken for a statue in a Buddhist temple. He was so still he scarcely seemed to draw breath. It seemed a shame to break into the stillness.

Hwoarang did it anyway.

“Why did you come to me? What did you think I could give you?”

Jin simply stared at him with those troubled eyes.

“I told you. I thought you could help me. I helped you before, once.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have money or connections or anything. What about that girl friend of yours, what’s her name? Xiao?”

“Xiao,” Jin confirmed. “She would help me but…she’s too close to my grandfather, and he would hurt her to hurt me without a second’s thought.”

Hwoarang whistled. “Damn.”

Jin merely grunted, and lapsed back into silence.

He couldn’t help himself. He had to ask.

“Your father…”

“No,” Jin said, cutting him off before he could finish. “I’m not discussing that monster.”

Baek had hated Kazuya Mishima, Hwoarang knew, but he was still surprised by the strength of Jin’s conviction. Had he met his presumed-dead father then? What had happened between them?

Whatever had happened, it was bad enough to reduce Jin to his current state, and that alone was enough to tell Hwoarang Kazuya Mishima was just as fucked up as Heihachi.

“This help you want from me…you won’t tell me anything. I don’t get it. Why am I here?”

“Hwoarang,” Jin said with a weary almost-smile, “you have been very good at few things in the time I’ve known you. You’re strong, as you so often remind me. You’re stubborn. You’re loyal, above all else, and you’re a loud, rude distraction. I could use some of that right now.”

Hwoarang jolted forward, feeling insulted to his very core. “Hey! Fuck you!”

“It’s not meant to be an insult,” Jin murmured. “Of course I value you as a person. It’s just…with these nightmares and thoughts I’ve been having, I wanted someone who could help blot them out of my head. And you clear my mind better than any meditation.”

Jin had moved closer to him, Hwoarang noticed.

“You’re using me,” Hwoarang stated flatly.

“Yes,” Jin said, not bothering to deny it. “But it’s not my intention to do this, it’s just how it worked out. If things had stayed like they were at the third tournament, it would be different between us.”

There it was.

Hwoarang remembered the third tournament, and the nights they’d spent together then, very well. Jin had been so different; he’d been more outwardly confident, almost cocky, and when they set eyes on each other at the pre-tournament party, Jin had known exactly what he wanted.

Hwoarang.

There were nights of endless fucking in Jin’s luxury suite; Hwoarang had nearly lost his first match due to his legs being weak from the night before with Jin. Jin had been in the crowd, watching, and when Hwoarang saw those dark eyes on him, burning with promise, he dragged himself up and ignored his aching limbs to blaze his way to victory.

They’d always intended to have their rematch, but somehow, they never found the time. There were more appealing ways to spend their time together. Like fucking on and against every surface they could find. In their quieter moments, things between them were peaceful; they’d sleep close together, content just to have the other one there, and Hwoarang slept better than he had in years.

But then Jin had changed. He’d left abruptly, and his grandfather had laughed loudly at Hwoarang when he’d asked if he knew where he’d gone. Hwoarang tried to trace him but was unable, and refusing to admit the sudden, sharp hurt to anyone, he’d been almost grateful when he was drafted into the army.

Then the fourth tournament had been announced, and he’d felt the urge to go. If Jin showed up…

Jin had showed up, and they hadn’t spoken. There were some fucked up things happening at the tournament. The rumours going around were insane. Hwoarang had been dodging the Korean military too, so when the tournament ended and he’d been dragged to jail, he’d felt relief along with frustration. Jin wasn’t dead. In the deepest part of his mind, he’d been afraid that he’d never see him again, but to know he continued, that he was still fighting…he’d just have to show up to the next tournament.

But then Jin came to him, out of nowhere.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this quiet for this long,” Jin said, breaking into his thoughts. “Maybe if you were sick or something, but under normal circumstances…”

Hwoarang sneered. “We can’t all be strong silent types like you, Kazama. Someone has to do the talking around here. Would get pretty boring otherwise.”

Jin gave a half smile.

“Personally, I’ve always found that actions speak louder than words.”

“Now you’re speaking my language! Can’t exactly spar in this cave though.”

“No,” Jin agreed, “but there’s plenty of room for…other things.”

“That,” Hwoarang said, edging over on his knees, “is the best idea I’ve heard from you all day.”

Jin allowed Hwoarang to straddle him, wrapping his longs legs around Jin’s waist so he could grind against him. Hwoarang was slightly taller, but Jin was larger and heavier, and strong enough to support them both easily. They kissed, as Jin’s hands found their way through his damp red hair. Hwoarang slid his hands up Jin’s shirt to touch his bare skin, and Jin shivered at his touch. Hwoarang broke the kiss to allow Jin to pull his shirt over his head and off, and he stood to remove his loose dobok pants too.

“Do you have anything?”

“Yes,” Jin confirmed, showing a small bottle of lubricant he’d taken from his own pocket.

Hwoarang laughed. “You brought that with us into the woods? Did you plan this?”

“Not exactly, but it rains constantly in Yakushima. If we got stranded out here for a while, we’d need something to do.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Jin was slicking up his fingers as Hwoarang repositioned himself. He slid his hips down as Jin slid his fingers in and forced himself to relax against the pressure. Jin bit hard against his neck, and Hwoarang gasped.

He retained some control by grasping Jin’s cock and watching as his face changed as he moved his hand. Jin was so stoic normally, there was little you could do to rattle him, but during sex, he’d always been so much more responsive, and Hwoarang relished the reactions he could get out of him.

“It doesn’t surprise me you make so much noise,” Jin had said, after the first time they’d fucked.

Hwoarang had paused from admiring his hair in a mirror the size of his apartment’s floor. He caught Jin’s eye in the reflection. Jin was watching him from his bed, still naked beneath the sweat-dappled sheets.

“You weren’t complaining at the time, Kazama.”

“I’m not complaining now,” Jin said, rising from the bed and moving rapidly to pin Hwoarang against the mirror. All that time on his hair gone to waste.

Jin’s face now was a little red, and his dark hair was flopping forward into his eyes. He looked completely out of control and Hwoarang loved it. He gave a little squeeze and felt Jin shudder against him.

“You going to fuck me already or are we going to do this all night?”

“Oh, I’m going to fuck you.”

Jin withdrew his fingers and used Hwoarang’s hips to pull him right down onto his cock. Hwoarang groaned as he felt himself stretched and filled, and when Jin’s hand grasped his own cock, he was moaning openly in pleasure, the sound filling the little cave. He moved against Jin, rolling his hips hard against him. Jin kissed his neck, moaning into the curve between his neck and shoulder as Hwoarang tightened around him. He broke away to crush their mouths together, and Hwoarang felt himself near as Jin’s fingers stroked, precise and focused.

“Oh fuck-” he choked as he came, Jin’s fingers and cock having done their work, and Jin stared at him as he did. Jin’s breath was coming faster now between those full lips, and Hwoarang seized him by the hair to tilt his head back as Jin’s thrusts increased in frequency.

“Bet nobody else makes you come like this.”

“Hwoarang,” Jin started, but he choked on what he was about to say as his hips bucked and he came, pulling Hwoarang down to him as he did, filling him. Hwoarang laughed as he looked deep into Jin’s eyes, all the sadness and pain extinguished just for one moment as the pleasure hit hard and fast.

When Jin had calmed, Hwoarang was listening for the rain. It seemed to have increased in volume, and now it was drumming down outside the mouth of the cave. They’d be soaked in seconds.

“Jin, did you ever sleep here before?”

“Yes,” Jin yawned, already a little sleepy. “It’s warm and dry. It should be fine.”

“Good, because I’ve ruined my hair enough for one day. Shove over, I want to lie beside you.”

Jin nudged over, and Hwoarang lay beside him, laying his head on Jin’s shoulder. This is how it should have been, he thought as he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

He woke to the smell of smoke from somewhere outside. Jin was nowhere to be seen, and immediately panic hit.

“Fuck!” he cursed as he scrabbled to dress, and he was scrambling out of the cave towards the source of the smoke. He didn’t have to go far to find it.

It looked as though there had been some sort of cataclysm. There was a huge hole in the forest, birds were fleeing in the opposite direction. Hwoarang ignored every instinct telling him to run, and plunged towards the source of the destruction.

Jin sat in a ruined clearing, alone, staring at his hands. Hwoarang ran to him and shook him.

“Jin! Are you ok? What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Jin muttered, while Hwoarang surveyed the damage with wide eyes.

The tree Jin had showed him was completely destroyed, its trunk torn off as though by the hand of a giant. Other trees were similarly wrecked, with charred leaves and mangled branches. Hwoarang shook his head in disbelief. It was monstrous.

“Jin,” he tried again, “what happened? Who did this?”

Jin turned his head away, clearly uncomfortable. “It…it was me.”

“What?” Hwoarang shouted. “How could you do something like this?”

He reached out to grasp Jin’s shoulder again. Jin’s hand caught him.

“Don’t touch me,” Jin said firmly, and his tone took Hwoarang aback.

“What? Jin, I don’t understand.”

“And you never will,” Jin said. He seemed completely distant again. Hwoarang glared.

“Oh, you’re really doing this again? You could at least have spared me this fucked up sight if you were going to do this. I didn’t need to see all this shit. Well, fuck you! I’m leaving, and don’t fucking bother me again. I’ve had enough of your shit.”

He turned to go. Jin’s voice came from behind him, low and urgent.

“Hwoarang.”

Hwoarang turned, and saw only a glimpse of golden eyes glowing in the dim light.

“ _Run_.”

This time Hwoarang gave into his instincts and took off in what he prayed was the direction of the beach. His muscles screamed as his thoughts whirred; what the fuck was Jin Kazama? He’d looked like some sort of monster. Was this why he had those nightmares?

He broke through to the beach, and thankfully there was a man with a small boat there. He looked suspiciously at Hwoarang, who was a mess in his damp, torn clothes and panting hard from exertion.

“Money,” Hwoarang remembered, and drew his leather money pouch from around his neck. He had some yen from Jin, enough to get him back to the mainland, but he’d have to ask Baek to help him get out of Japan. Baek would understand, though, he hoped.

He handed the silent boatman some crumpled notes, prayed it was enough, and felt his heart lift in relief as he was gestured towards the boat. As they pulled away from the beach, he looked towards the spirals of smoke rising from the forest and felt a dark gloom settle on him again.

Jin had been right about him not understanding. He doubted anyone could.

Hwoarang watched the smoke spiral up from Yakushima, and his eyes must have been deceiving him, because for a second he thought he glimpsed a winged shadow. He blinked and it was gone.

Just the lack of sleep getting to him, and the weirdness of the past day.

When Yakushima had faded away into the horizon, he turned his attention to the sea. Baek had been right about him. He was always too quick to rush into a situation, he said, and he’d get himself into serious trouble if he didn’t take the time to assess things.

Hwoarang had scoffed, and been given a clip around his ear for the trouble. He’d been fourteen then, what a little punk he’d been. Long before he ever heard of Jin Kazama.

“Fucking Kazama,” he muttered, ignoring the strange look the boatman gave him, “I wish I’d never met you.”

He’d never been good at lying, not even to himself. But it was a better thing to think than remembering how happy they’d been, how Jin had changed, and what had just happened. He had to finally give it up and move on, no matter the cost.

The radio crackled and the signal switched it and out as it picked up the stations from the mainland. Hwoarang was only half-listening until there was an announcement.

“mysterious circumstances…fifth Iron Fist tournament…”

Fifth tournament? Well… Perhaps he could wait to give it up, and as action was always worth more than words, he’d enjoy defeating Jin in the tournament. He’d make him pay for everything.

Satisfied with his course of action, Hwoarang sat back, and began drumming his fingers impatiently, waiting for the mainland to come back into sight.


End file.
